


The Final Frontier

by handschuhmaus



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Star Trek Fusion, Darth Tantrum and his Evil Space Ginger, I am Darth Vader from the Planet Vulcan, M/M, Or not. Not probably what you expect in that tag, ST:AOS reference, Second Person Narration, ambiguous pairing sort of, implied/referenced canon typical planetary destruction/genocide, something or other to do with the Camera Obscura song Anti Western
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-11
Updated: 2018-12-11
Packaged: 2019-08-21 22:19:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16585307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/handschuhmaus/pseuds/handschuhmaus
Summary: people who plan the way worlds endare notnice(but that can be ignored.can't it?)





	The Final Frontier

**Author's Note:**

> ambiguous both in the extent of the feelings, and whether this is Vader/Palpatine or Kylux... ;)

_This station isn't big enough for the two of us._ Infamous words you won't say.

Still, it isn't. 

He redeemed you from, well, something. You don't want to talk about that, don't want to give voice to something that could resurface in your nightmares. Something like, sort of, family.

But you're here now, accompanying him (they don't talk about this sort of thing on the Enterprise, oh no)

This, what's on the station, is luxury for the well-heeled of the sector and it seems bitter as ash in your mouth, the frivolities you won't and never had. Deadly ones. 

Or will you? That's what he intends. 

For you, a trusty weapon is good enough to play enforcer, with vengeance. Good enough to destroy all you once held dear for the crime of deadweight on your potential. The potential he sees, more fully.

But oh, dearness was never like this; you hate him and what he will have you do (even if it is much the same as the things you do knowing, in the eyes of society, you shouldn't) as much as you ever might... love him? The word seems appropriate, even if this isn't what anyone, even you, would put in the picture dictionary entry under the human word. 

_He can be kind!_ you retort within your own head.

And the kind man says to you, here and now, one compounded word, with a sort of tragic glee, "Planetkiller."

You remember reading very, very old human sci-fi about the natural destruction of a planet, destabilization of its satellite, the mad rush to leave when not all could go, and then some other emotion flashes through your mind (of a dry wind, an expanse of sand and an immense sadness, tinged with red at the edges) as if from a crack to another universe, the many worlds they say quantum physics entails.

"The Romulans," you say, and you couldn't explain why you said it or even thought it, "are like us," and it isn't quite statement, but isn't entirely a question.

"They _are_ us," he counters expansively. 

And you choke down the bile of allowing yourself to want this, blocking off compassion with a deep metallic clank, biting your tongue until the taste of blood brings on blind hate, almost mistakable for justice.

"We will use it?" it is a question, thickly spoken round your self-wounded tongue. 

He puts a nearly comforting, perhaps censuring hand on your wrist and merely smiles that charming, devilish smile.


End file.
